


In Which a Torn Up Note Makes The Sense It Ought (Which Is Almost None)

by jacksparrow589



Series: In Which Things Change [8]
Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I'm unabashedly calling this a fix-it, Shirbert, they finally communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksparrow589/pseuds/jacksparrow589
Summary: Anne stared out the window, horrified comprehension of what she'd just done dawning on her as the pieces of Gilbert's note fluttered unread to the ground.If this were a story and not her miserably unfortunate life, leaning out would have revealed Gilbert below, and they'd clear up this misunderstanding. He'd certainly find this amusing; she didn't doubt that. He always found her mishaps amusing, it seemed.But this wasn't a story, and Gilbert wasn't here.-------------Anne tries to piece Gilbert's note together after she rips it apart. When that leaves her with more questions than answers, she decides to do the Anne thing and demand answers.Set during 3x10.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: In Which Things Change [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672138
Comments: 26
Kudos: 104





	In Which a Torn Up Note Makes The Sense It Ought (Which Is Almost None)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation I had with BeckyBubbles over on Twitter, in which I suggested a reverse of the normal window scene, where Anne goes to Gilbert's instead of him coming to her.
> 
> If you haven't heard my rant about that particular moment, I am so incensed that Anne's note from Gilbert tore into neat little word clouds that fit any which way. Not how that works!
> 
> This one was written and posted entirely from my phone. I have done my best to proofread, but autocorrect likes to be sneaky.

Anne stared out the window, horrified comprehension of what she'd just done dawning on her as the pieces of Gilbert's note fluttered unread to the ground.

If this were a story and not her miserably unfortunate life, leaning out would have revealed Gilbert below, and they'd clear up this misunderstanding. He'd certainly find this amusing; she didn't doubt that. He always found her mishaps amusing, it seemed.

But this wasn't a story, and Gilbert wasn't here. Anne raced down the stairs and out to under the window to snatch up as many pieces as she could. A few had to have fluttered away, but she had to try to piece together what she could grab. She gathered the pieces into her pinafore so they wouldn't crinkle or tear in her hands and proceeded gingerly back up to her room so that the pieces wouldn't float away again in the breeze.

Spreading out the pieces, she started to try to match them together. She'd put together a jigsaw puzzle once with Diana and Ruby. Surely this couldn't be that much more difficult! She could start with the outside edges. Those were crisp, or at least different to the tears she'd made. Anne also found that she could at least try matching the creases of the paper where Gilbert had folded it.

It was slow work, and it seemed she'd only been able to gather half of the pieces by the time she was done. Her heart was in her throat. She'd seen words and pieces of them, and they didn't seem encouraging. She'd glimpsed what looked like most of the word "parting" between two pieces, and "oreve" on another piece, which she had to assume was "forever". Most of it was just too jumbled, or missing key pieces, however. Anne's head throbbed, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to hold back tears. Had she done all of this for nothing? Why couldn't she have held back just this once?

 _What has he done to deserve that generosity?_ a cruel part of her brain whispered. _You gave him the chance to speak at Miss Stacy's, and it certainly seemed he'd mostly made his choice at the bonfire. If he wanted you, he wouldn't have needed to ask._

Anne was ready to dash the pieces of the note apart when the close of the note caught her eye: "nne with an e". The tops and bottoms of some of the letters were missing, but in that instant, she knew what it had to be. That first regrettable spelling bee aside, it has always been a way for them to make peace. It was an affectionate acknowledgement of the thirst for knowledge that they shared, of their equal footing in competition. It was almost a secret code of sorts.

But more importantly, the last time Gilbert had spelled something, Anne had seen what was in his eyes. She'd tried to deny it, but she wouldn't have run away if she hadn't known on some level just what that gaze of his had meant.

 _His eyes..._ The surprise, the shock, the _hurt_ when she'd mentioned Winifred... but Anne knew she couldn't have been wrong to do so if things had gotten so far as permission to propose!

 _I hadn't told him I loved him before that night at that Ruins, though. How was he to know? But if he felt that way for me, why not tell me? Couldn't he see what was in my eyes? Couldn't he see that I—_ Anne choked on a sob. He'd given up. That was the only explanation: he'd given up and taken the sure bet, just as she'd originally told him to.

But why write a note with such obvious affection, then? No matter what way she looked at it, something didn't fit. Her chance at happiness might be dashed, but if nothing else, Winifred didn't deserve someone who would write such a thing to someone else after proposing to her!

That settled it. She was going to go over there and give Gilbert a piece of her mind.

* * *

Anne stared up at the window, rock in hand. She didn't want to knock in case Dellie was sleeping—and God forbid she have to explain her presence to Bash or his mother—but with the anger simmering inside her, she wasn't sure she could keep from breaking a pane with this rock. Perhaps she should look for a smaller one.

No; this was madness. She could contain herself long enough to ask to speak to Gilbert—

"Anne?!"

Anne spun around, trying to find the source of the voice, then looked up. Gilbert leaned out his bedroom window. He was certainly confused, but there was hope on his face and in his voice when he asked, "You got my note?"

 _Got, yes. Read, on the other hand..._ Anne nodded faintly, and Gilbert gestured for her to wait before disappearing from the window. Anne was left to ponder, worrying the stone in her hand. Gilbert wouldn't be this eager to break a heart. He was the caring sort. Perhaps Winifred had somehow gotten him into a corner with this proposal business?

Or maybe—though she certainly couldn't let herself believe such a thing—just maybe, he hadn't proposed.

She'd find out soon enough; Gilbert was rounding the corner of the house, and now that he was getting closer, Anne could see all the ways hope lit up his features. She couldn't stop herself from returning a half-smile, but before Gilbert could say anything, Anne blurted, "I got your note, but I didn't read it."

Gilbert tilted his head to one side just a little. "What... _did_ you do with it, then?" He sounded just a little worried, but also like he was already trying to hold back laughter.

It have Anne the courage to continue, "I... tore it up. I was angry that—that you wouldn't come and tell me in person... Something I thought I knew." She knew she was turning red, but she had to keep going. "I realized as soon as I threw the pieces of the note out the window that I had made some assumptions, and I tried to gather them up and piece them together, but I got only about half. And I didn't know what they meant, but I did see... You wrote 'Anne with an E'. You wrote it out. And I can't explain it, but I know that for us, spelling—it's... It sounds so childish to say it out loud!" She shook her head. "And then I came over here because I was so sure... Diana _told_ me you were there, that you were going to... And I couldn't fathom why you'd write like that to _me_ after you'd..." Anne tried, but she couldn't get the words out. She took a shuddering breath, then tried again. "I understand that my note came too late. I understand that you've already promised yourself. But I didn't think that you'd turn right around and... Why are you looking at me like that?"

Gilbert let out a quiet sigh. "I should have just waited for you instead of leaving that note. Anne, I'm not marrying Winifred. I can't."

Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces fit, and all Anne could manage was a soft "Oh."

The stone slid from her hand and into the grass. Gilbert looked down at it, and then back up, his expression clearly asking if he really wanted to know.

Now, the words came pouring out. "When I asked you at Miss Stacy's if you had anything to say to me, it was because Diana said that you'd gone to propose, even though you should have gotten my note by then, and I didn't know what your response meant, and then when I came back in from picking corn to find that you'd left a note, I thought you were a coward who couldn't just face me and tell me what you weren't denying when anyone asked, so I tore up the note, and then I realized I really ought to have read it—yes, I thought you'd find that funny," she told Gilbert, who was struggling not to laugh as she continued, "so I tried to put it back together, but I didn't get all the pieces, and I came over here to demand to know what you meant by 'Anne with an E' since you've never once in your life called me that, so I was going to throw that rock at your window to get your attention, but I didn't want to break the window..." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Now, here we are."

Gilbert's expression had grown gradually more serious with hints of regret and then confusion as her explanation had gone on. But the thing he needed to say most was clear to him: "Anne, I'm sorry. So much of this is my fault—no, it is," he told her when she tried to protest. "I should have just... talked with you. I should have been braver instead of taking the easy way out. And I should never have gotten involved with Winifred." He said it so sincerely that there could be no room for doubt. "I didn't propose to her. I couldn't, not when... not when I don't love her—couldn't love her. I realized that morning that regardless of your feelings for me, it would be cruel of me to propose knowing that I'd never love her like I love you. She asked me to give her two weeks so she could leave for Paris without having to deal with the gossip, and I agreed, but I had to tell you. I suppose you ripping up my note serves me right for not waiting and asking to speak with you in person."

Anne, breathing for the first time since Gilbert said "I love you," made a derisive noise, though it was clear it was directed at herself as much as it was at him. "As though that's worked any better."

Gilbert had been reaching out to take one of her hands, but stopped short. "Well, I'm hoping that we can make a new start of it." _Even if that start is very short._ "I need to know, Anne, even if it hurts: what is it you feel for me?"

Anne blinked. "Was my note unclear?" she asked disbelievingly.

"You keep talking about leaving me a note." Gilbert took a breath, trying to tamp down on the frustration he could feel rising in response to Anne's. More quietly, he asked, "Anne, what note? I never got one."

Once again, the puzzle pieces fell into place, and once again, Anne blinked before quietly clarifying, "You never got my note... You really thought I didn't love you... And you didn't propose anyway?"

For a moment, all Gilbert could do was nod, but he managed to finally ask, "It sounds like you're saying that I was wrong about that?"

 _His eyes..._ They were full of romance—they couldn't not be after saying what he had about his feelings for her—but they were full of something else she hadn't been able to put a name to until now: hope. "I..." Anne licked her lips. "Yes. The note I wrote... Gilbert, I love you."

Gilbert didn't say anything; there really wasn't much left to say at the moment. The smile he was giving Anne said it all, and Anne loved the way it made her feel. In that moment, anything seemed possible, and so Anne stepped forward and took Gilbert's hands, using them as leverage and balance as she pulled herself to him.

It was only after her lips met his that she realized she wasn't entirely sure she should be doing this. She pulled away, again only belatedly realizing that Gilbert's hands had wrapped around hers and he was finishing the job she'd started of pulling herself closer. They were now toe to toe, inches apart where they weren't touching. Anne didn't think she needed to apologize, but she should probably say something. Her present trouble, scant as it was in comparison to the others she'd faced today, was what that something that she should say _was._ "I, um... Well..."

Gilbert had never exactly helped when she was feeling lost for words, and now was no different. He was leaning back in, and they were just about to kiss again when a noise startled then apart: Bash had cleared his throat.

"Bash!" Gilbert yelped. If Anne wasn't so embarrassed herself, she'd be amused to note that Gilbert was giving her a run for how deeply either of them could blush. As it was, she was staring at the ground. At least it couldn't stare back.

"Seems it's not just toddlers you need to worry about when they're quiet." It was a small mercy Anne knew Bash was teasing more than admonishing. She still wished she could disappear on the spot, but the sharp, burning shame that usually accompanied being caught out wasn't gnawing at her from the inside, at least, and Gilbert was still holding her hands like he'd never let go if he didn't have to.

"I should be calling Rachel Lynde over to give you both a stern talking-to about decorum and courting," Bash continued, clearly unable to contain his glee. "However, I'll settle for you both going and telling Marilla and Matthew you've finally sorted things out between you, after which I will mercilessly make fun of Blythe until you both leave for Queen's."

Gilbert let out a put-upon sigh and mumbled a half completely sincere, half utterly sarcastic, "Thanks, Bash," and tucked Anne's arm into his as they started back toward Green Gables. If his hand slid into hers once they were out of sight, or if they stopped a few brief times along the way on the service of figuring out kissing, well, nobody had to know.

And while most of the walk was spent in highly companionable quiet as they exchanged tender smiles, they one thing they were clear on by the time they reached Green Gables was that they would talk when they needed to. They knew they had a lot of talking ahead of them yet, but they'd said what mattered most, and that they'd get to keep saying "I love you" over and over again would make even the difficult conversations worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Saccharine enough for you, folks? I was writing this while sick with a minor head cold (which is still hanging around), so I needed the fluff to make me feel better.
> 
> And because I just love fluff; let's be honest. 😁
> 
> I've got a few more stories in the works, but they're longer, and so there will be a bit of a posting lull from me for a while until I can get enough written to feel comfortable starting to post.
> 
> As usual, let me know what you think!


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